


The Hostile Takeover

by StellaMachiavelli



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - All Media Types, Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaMachiavelli/pseuds/StellaMachiavelli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestat de Lioncourt is a high-flying businessman out for revenge on ruthless boss Santino, with the help of his best friend David Talbot. There's just one complication: on Santino's side is Lestat's ex, Louis de Pointe du Lac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Here," said Lestat. "I got you an Americano. It's the most boring thing on the menu, so I decided you would be pleased." 

David reached out for the cup as Lestat got back into the car. "I don't like coffee," he protested. He cursed under his breath as Lestat handed him the cup; Lestat had typically forgotten to wrap a protective sleeve around it and the heat seared through his fingers.

"Careful!" said Lestat. "Don't spill it on my baby!"

"It's boiling hot!"

"Pfft, I was fine." 

"You're wearing driving gloves." David placed the coffee in the cup holder of the Bentley and scowled. "I did tell you not to get me anything." 

"You've just come off a red-eye flight from Heathrow," said Lestat. "I need you to be at the--what do you rosbifs say? Ah, I need you at the top of your game if we're going to close this deal." 

"You should've got me some whisky, you bloody frog. Lord knows I'll need it with you driving us to Manhattan." He took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. "Nobody drives in Manhattan, by the way." 

"I do," said Lestat. "How else would they see my sexy car?" 

David rolled his eyes, but he could not help a wry grin spreading across his face. "Just drive. I'll tell you what I learned about Morabito Holdings and why you need to reconsider your latest plan." 

* 

The Brooklyn Bridge loomed large overhead. Lestat was growling with frustation as the traffic leaving the bridge backed up, but David was grateful for the traffic jam; he'd spent the last half an hour attempting to talk sense into Lestat before their meeting, to no avail. 

"I think you're underestimating this Santino chap. I mean, he's not just known here. He's infamous in London. For God's sake, they're wary of him in Paris and Frankfurt. He knows everyone, Lestat. He's not the good-natured middle-class Sicilian merchant who struck it rich that you seem to think he is."

"Good for him," said Lestat. "And I'm not just the provinicial Auvergne boy who worked my way up the corporate ladder to own half of Paris and New Orleans." He flashed a smile at his friend. "Manhattan's next, and I intend to step all over Santino Morabito to achieve that aim." 

"Can't we just target someone a little less powerful, or dangerous? Donald Trump?"

Lestat laughed a full-throated laugh. "Please! I could eat him for breakfast!" He drummed his hands on the steering wheel. "What the fuck is the hold-up here? We're going to be late. How deeply unprofessional." 

"They'll understand." 

"It's not becoming a gentleman." He took a sip of his coffee. "Ugh, it's cold now. One of my ex-boyfriends was always late, every goddamned date we had, I'd be working myself up into a perfect fury, thinking he wouldn't turn up. He was hot, you understand. That was the only reason he got away with it." 

"Of course," said David fatuously. 

"Really hot, though. I mean, I..." he trailed off, gazing at the line of traffic. "Well, anyway. This Santino prick, he's the one who screwed Marius out of all that money a few years ago." 

"I know," said David. "And I understand you wanting to get this fellow because you're loyal to Marius, but isn't that all water under the bridge now? Do you really want to expose our business to this _madman_ \-- for he is a madman, Lestat. I got talking to Eric in Knightsbridge. He said it's not so much a secret that Santino had Riccardo killed just because he stood in his way -- they simply can't prove it." 

"We'll be fine," said Lestat. "I have my contacts. Magnus named me as his successor, didn't he? I'll wipe him off the face of the planet if he tries it with me. But we'll try a nice dawn raid first. I can't wait to see his face when he realizes I'm the one in charge." He smirked. "Traffic's clearing. Let's do this." 

* 

Morabito Holdings had its headquarters in the heart of Manhattan, in one of the oldest skyscrapers there. Lestat refused to be impressed; De Lioncourt Enterprises occupied several floors of one of the massive new buildings in Manhattan, and he swelled with pride in the certainity that Morabito Holdings would soon be another business in his portfolio. 

He signed in at reception with David, and then they were escorted to the upper levels of the building, where the staff were coldly efficient and dressed in uniform black and white. Lestat grudgingly admitted to himself that Santino had an eye for the right staff: most of them were relatively young and good-looking. He decided, in a fit of altruism, that he would probably keep most of the staff on once he had taken over; bedding a few of them would of course be the decent thing to do. They were ten minutes late, but the assistant who took their coats and guided them to the boardroom insisted it was no problem. She was a woman who looked to be in her early thirties, with green eyes -- he was a sucker for green eyes -- and flaming red hair. His eyes roved over her body appreciatively as she led the way, until David elbowed him in the ribs and told him to stop being so obvious. 

The meeting was for several company leaders who had won contracts for regeneration schemes across New Orleans post-Katrina. Whilst Lestat had insisted on coming to this meeting with David (who usually took care of this aspect of the business) he had decided to keep his enemy close by ingratiating himself with Santino before the takeover. He wanted to relish his unassuming rival's defeat every step of the way. Let Santino realize that somebody he trusted had been instrumental in his downfall: didn't Marius deserve such sweet revenge? 

The meeting had already started. Santino, an admittedly handsome, tall Italian in his mid-forties, sharply dressed, stood at the front of the room, holding court over the assembled middle-aged businessmen. Lestat couldn't help preening as he took his seat, for he knew his good looks and his very young age always caused a stir. 

"Welcome, Sirs," said Santino. "You are from De Lioncourt, yes?" 

Lestat nodded. "We are. I am Lestat de Lioncourt, and with me is my business partner, David Talbot." 

David greeted the assembled men politely, and took his own seat. 

"I am Santino Morabito. Pleased to meet you." He clapped his hands together. "You haven't missed much. In fact, we are still awaiting my assistant-- ah, here he is now."  
The door opened, and a young man carrying various handouts entered the room. He smiled nervously and walked over to Santino. "I think we will need some more," he said. "I've asked Jessica to bring the rest." 

"Thank you, darling," said Santino. "Everyone, this is my assistant -- and my fiancé - Louis de Pointe du Lac. Should you require any assistance while you're with us today, please do not hesitate to direct your questions to him." 

Louis was dressed in a simple white shirt and black pants, with a grey vest. His hair was tied back and he was clean-shaven. He did not look up as he walked around the table, focusing his attention solely on each person he talked to, with that peculiar ability of his to block out the world and direct his attention onto another person like a laser beam. Where before all eyes had been on Lestat, the handsome young assistant was causing his own stir. 

Lestat felt an unpleasant, angry jolt crash through him. He was baffled as Louis walked around the room, greeting each person and providing them with booklets. What strange world had he entered? Coincidence upon coincidence. Was this because he'd allowed himself to mention the little bastard when he'd been stuck in traffic? He bristled at the thought of how Louis had greeted Santino -- and his fiancé! What had happened to the commitment-phobic, self-hating Louis? 

He heard David greet Louis behind him, and then Louis's soft voice beside him. "Good morning, Sir. You are--?" 

He turned his chair around fully and stared up into Louis's face, pleased and infuriated at the shock which registered there. "Lestat de Lioncourt," he said evenly, while Louis stood there with his mouth open slightly. "You may have heard of me."


	2. A Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK so that was a long hiatus. Next chapter will be much sooner, I promise.

 

“It’s a magnificent view,” said David. 

 

“You can practically see all of New York from the observation deck,’ said Santino. ‘It may lack the charm of Rome, but there’s a toughness to this city I appreciate.” 

 

Lestat scratched his chin thoughtfully. “So you stay here?” 

 

“Oh, no. It’s not really for me. We have a place in Greenwich Village but tend to spend our time out in Saratoga Springs. My fiance prefers it.” 

 

“Did you--” 

 

“Forgive me for being blunt,” interrupted Santino, “but I’m sure you understand - the others snapped up my offer almost immediately and you are yet to commit.” He shook his head. “It’s a good offer, Mr. Lioncourt.” 

 

“It is, yes.” Lestat shrugged. “But these things take time and I must discuss it with my friend David here.” He gave Santino a winning smile. “When do you need an answer?” 

 

“This morning, really, but for you, I will wait.” 

 

“Good. We will ponder on it.” 

 

“What will it take for me to convince you?”

 

Lestat clapped his hands together. “Let’s do lunch.” 

 

“But of course - I would have invited you anyway. There’s a great French place I can take you to, at my invitation, of course.” 

 

“Splendid,” said David. 

 

“Will your assistant join us?” asked Lestat. 

 

“Would you like him to?” 

 

“Of course. He is French, is he not -- yes, then bring him along. It is always nice to have a fellow French speaker to talk to.” Lestat clapped Santino on the back. “I look forward to getting to know you both.” 

 

* * *

 

Louis collapsed into the chair and gazed around his office. He placed his hands on the desk in front of him and watched his long fingers shake with resigned interest. He sat there for some minutes, then pulled his tie loose from his collar and stood up again, turned to the window to open it before realizing for the umpteenth time that he couldn’t. He collapsed against the windowsill, taking in great gulps of air. 

 

The door opened and he jumped up. “Oh -- Santino…” 

 

“Are you all right?” 

 

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” he asked. 

 

Santino walked towards him and took hold of his hands. “Louis, look at me,” he said gently. 

 

Louis reluctantly raised his eyes to Santino. He nodded slightly as Santino held him firmly, the tremors in his hands stilling. “Thank you,” he said shakily. 

 

“You did well today. There’s no need to worry.” 

 

“Oh, that-- no, I’m fine, I swear.” Louis pulled his hands from Santino’s grasp and stood patiently while his fiance fussed with his tie and straightened it again, adjusting his collar. “I think the presentation went well.” 

 

Santino smiled. “It did, thanks to you. We are almost there.” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“We are going out for lunch. It looks like Lioncourt and his associate require a little more persuasion.” 

 

Louis turned from him and reached for the papers on his desk. “Ah, I’ll catch up with you later, then.” 

 

“No, you are coming with me. They have requested your company.” 

 

Louis closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course,” he muttered. He turned back to Santino. “I am afraid I can’t go. I have a meeting with Finance at two--” 

 

“Cancel it,” he ordered. 

 

“But the quarterly forecast is due and I’ve already postponed it twice.” 

 

“Louis, this contract is important to us -- we need Lioncourt on board.” 

 

He scowled. “The other investors are all but guaranteed.” 

 

“Lioncourt is the biggest firm. You know this.” Santino took up his hand again. “What’s wrong with you today?” 

 

“Nothing. I just-- I would prefer not to go, that’s all.” He stared moodily at the floor, and did not smile when Santino whacked him lightly on the arm. “My stomach is in knots.” 

 

“Come on.” 

 

“Fine, I’ll go. But don’t harangue me later if I don’t talk much.” 

 

“You had better talk,” said Santino, turning and leading him out of the office. “Switch on that Gallic charm for your reluctant countryman.” 

 

* * *

 

The brief drive to the restaurant was quiet. Louis, next to Santino, scribbled furiously in a pad. Santino made hushed small talk with David, pointing out various sites of interest, though he cast long looks at Lestat throughout. Lestat clutched his cellphone in one hand tightly, staring out of the window and then at Louis. 

 

When the chauffeur opened the door, Lestat and David got out and walked ahead into the restaurant. Santino took Louis by the elbow and held him back for a moment. “Don’t go off into one of your daydreams,” he warned him. 

 

“I’m  _ never  _ unprofessional--” said Louis, stung. 

 

“I think de Lioncourt is interested in you.’” 

 

Louis bristled. “What--” 

 

“Use it to our advantage,” said Santino. “Hush, don’t argue with me here.” He smiled at Lestat and David, waiting for them in the foyer. “Gentlemen, let’s do lunch.” 

 

* * *

They were seated at the finest table, something Santino was quick to point out. The room was opulent, decked out in gold and red reminiscent of a French bistro, but with ostentatious fanfare. Everything looked expensive; the floral arrangements were fresh and towering, the clientele well-heeled and slick, while the waiters were pristine and efficient. 

 

“What would you recommend?” asked David, running his hand down the menu. 

 

“The poached pike is good,” said Louis. “And not too heavy.”

 

“He’s very proud of the cuisine here,” said Santino. “A true patriot.” 

 

“Give me a rough little cafe in some godforsaken little town any day,” said Lestat. “I’ll have the steak au poivre, can’t mess with the classics, I guess.” 

 

A waiter appeared to take their drinks orders. David ordered a scotch as usual, and Santino chose a bottle of expensive red for the table. The waiter returned within minutes and poured a glass each for them. 

 

“To partnership,” said Santino, raising his glass. 

 

“To partnership,” they echoed, clinking their glasses together and holding each others’ gaze in the Latin way.

 

“Ah, you did not maintain eye contact!” said Lestat, wagging his finger at Louis. “You know what they say about that!” 

 

Santino groaned playfully. “Louis, how could you!”

 

“What is it?” asked David. 

 

“There is a French tradition that to toast incorrectly means seven years’ bad sex,” laughed Lestat. He winked at Louis, who glowered at him, blushing. “I am truly sorry, Santino.” 

 

“Please, you’re embarrassing him,” laughed Santino, casting Louis a fond look. He turned to David. “I hope we have not offended you.” 

 

“No, not at all,” said David. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking…” 

 

Louis looked relieved as they began talking and attention was taken from him. He reached for his glass and took a sip of wine, his eyes closing with relief. 

 

Lestat’s face fell. “You drink? He said softly in French. 

 

Louis opened his eyes and cast him a poisonous look. “You would mention that?” he whispered harshly in French. 

 

The waiter returned to take their orders, distracting him. Lestat frowned and let the conversation slide. 

 

* * *

 

 

Lunch lasted a good two hours. They thrashed out a deal for preliminary talks with their companies’ legal teams and Lestat committed to stay in New York to oversee the talks for the next month. He did not agree to come on board immediately and Santino assured him that simply being willing to negotiate would be good enough. He offered Lestat the use of his offices and his staff while in New York. 

 

At the end of the meal, Santino tossed his credit card onto the table. “Gentlemen,” he said. “Do either of you smoke?” He took out a cigar case. 

 

Lestat wrinkled his nose in response, but David smiled delightedly. “I’ll join you,” he said. 

 

“We will meet you outside,” said Santino to Louis and Lestat. “Please, finish your drinks at your leisure.” He flashed another suave smile and strolled towards the foyer. 

 

Louis watched him leave, his mouth a set in an uncomfortable grimace. He dropped his shoulders and reached for the wine glass in front of him, then reached for the bottle. Before he could do so, a waitress had swept  forward and topped his glass up with wordless efficiency. 

 

“Thank you,” he muttered. He raised the glass to his mouth, took a gulp, and placed it back on the table. He stared at it. 

 

“So,” said Lestat finally. 

 

“Hmm.” 

 

“How long have you been in New York?” 

 

“Four years now,” said Louis. 

 

“Why won’t you look at me?” 

 

Louis sighed. He raised his gaze to Lestat. “This is hard for me too, you know,” he said evenly.  

 

“Who said it’s hard for me?” said Lestat, grinning. “Your insecurities aren’t mine to fix.” 

 

Louis blinked. “You don’t have to be cruel,” he said, his voice low. 

 

Lestat regarded him somberly. “It’s hard for me,” he said. 

 

“I know,” said Louis. He quirked him an unhappy smile. “But sometimes these things, they just don’t work out. We parted on good terms, didn’t we?” 

 

“You disappeared. I wanted to talk to you so many times, but I didn’t know where you were or how to reach you. You could have been dead, for all I knew.” 

 

“Such melodrama!” scoffed Louis. “You could have found me if you needed to, you and I both know that.” He shrugged. “It was that we had nothing to say, Lestat.” 

 

Lestat flinched when he said his name. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. “And now you are to be married,” he said softly, watching Louis drink the last of his wine. He reached into his pocket and tossed some bills onto the table, ignoring Louis’s scandalized look. “Toi, toujours chercher la petite bête.” 

 

“Yes,” said Louis. “I can’t help it.” He followed Lestat to the foyer and thanked the maitre’D as his coat and scarf were returned. “One of many things for which you criticized me.” He wound the scarf about his neck and shouldered the coat. 

 

“I am sure your marriage will be full of bland niceties,” said Lestat. “Of course you would gravitate towards the dull.” 

 

“Ah, yes. Dullness. Another of my faults. Remind me to list yours one day.” 

 

“I’ll pass,” said Lestat. “Once this deal is over you can go back to your wine and depression.” He snatched up Louis’s hand and shook it mockingly, his grip hard. 

 

Louis gripped his just as fiercely. “But you wonder why we fell apart,” he said savagely. 

 

“I have just one question for you, my friend,” said Lestat. He released his grip, smiled at the waiters and led Louis towards the doors. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

“How does he fuck you?” Lestat hissed, oozing poison. “Is it rough? Is it slow and gentle?” He pulled back. “Why are you smiling?” 

 

“I was just thinking,” said Louis. 

 

“About me?” 

 

“About Santino, and how glad I am to have a man -- a true man -- like him in my life. Adieu.” 

 

Lestat snatched out a hand and grabbed Louis by the elbow, pulling him back roughly. “How dare you--” 

 

“How dare  _ you _ , Lestat! Years have passed and you revert to type almost immediately. Will you never change?” He pushed him away. “Leave me alone. I don’t care if you take the deal, but you just leave me alone.” 

 

“Louis--” 

 

“I mean it, Lestat.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his expression stricken. “You  _ know _ I don’t mean these things.” 

 

Louis shook his head. “No, you never do. That’s the worst of it.” He took a shaky breath, composing himself. “I wish you understood.” He turned from Lestat and walked out to the waiting car. He didn’t look back. 

 

“Your talk went well, then?” 

 

Lestat smirked at David, who had stolen up beside him. “It gave me the strangest sense of deja vu.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” said David. He watched as Lestat reached into his pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. “No, no thank you - vile habit. You owe me for that cigar; my lungs hurt now.” He sighed. “I rather suppose that’s complicated things.” 

 

“Non, David.” He lit up the cigarette and took a long drag from it. “It just raises the stakes.” He shrugged. “I like it. I’ll fuck them both. In different ways.”

 

“How crass. Whatever did he see in you?” 

 

Lestat smirked at him. “I always maintain eyesight when toasting.” 

  
David threw back his head and laughed. “Come on, we have a city to see.”  


	3. Franco Italiano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @i-want-my-iwtv on Tumblr for the shout out. =)

Santino poured himself a glass of wine and joined Louis on the couch. It was a crisp ,dry evening and he had opened the windows of the parlor to let in some air. They had left they city behind them for the weekend to return to Saratoga Springs, grateful for the peace after a hectic week.

There was some brooding French drama Louis had queued up on the TV, with a solemn boy returned from the dead, haunting a small French town. Louis watched it _sans sous titres_ but Santino was fluent in the language so forgave him the small thoughtless gesture.

He wound his around Louis’s shoulders and pulled him close, pleased with the comfortable weight of his fiance against him. Louis was soft and sleepy -- he always changed into sweats or pajamas as soon as possible after getting home, and tonight he wore a simple loose t-shirt and soft flannel pajama bottoms. He sat with his feet curled up.

They watched the program in silence for a while, Louis quietly focused on the storyline and Santino lost in thought. Finally, he spoke: “I think today went very well.”

“Mmm,” said Louis.

“I offered Lestat the use of my staff.”

“I know, I was there,” he reminded him ruefully.

Santino smiled. “And I offered him the services of my assistant.”

Louis pulled away, splaying a hand across Santino’s chest. “What?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like _what_? Outraged? Which I am, by the way,” growled Louis.

Santino pulled him close again, his hold tightening when Louis resisted slightly. “It’s a few weeks. You can do it. And he’s unguarded around you -- don’t think I don’t see it.” He ran a finger down Louis’s noise contemplatively. “You could charm anyone.”

Louis flicked his eyes to Santino, darkly mutinous. “I’m not someone to be whored out--”

“Louis, be practical. You and I both know you never give quarter to anyone. But it worked for the Leimann deal.”

He gripped Santino’s arm. “You know he propositioned me constantly, right?”

“Yes, but you didn’t cave. And you had Schuler eating out of your hand so that we bagged that massive contract last year. It works.”

“I’d prefer to be taken seriously,” he muttered.

“There’s more to it than that,” said Santino.

Louis froze. “What --” he swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“You can be my spy, make sure everything’s above board. I want someone watching Lioncourt and Talbot closely. There’s too much riding on this deal, and I trust you to watch them carefully.”

Louis bit his lip. Of course, he knew full well that Lestat always Had A Motive (whether in affairs of business or _affairs with other people_ , he thought sourly) and he _did_ suspect that there was something more to this deal; it didn’t make much sense to him that Lestat, not a gambler by nature even if he was reckless with money, would join such a risky venture.

And Santino was right (he would never quite know _how_ right) in surmising that Louis knew what made Lestat tick. Louis cherished the stability of his home here, the protective, slightly intimidating figure that Santino cut (there was talk of some shady mob connection in New Jersey) and that he could turn a blind eye to these things instead of being dragged on yet another reckless adventure with the blond hellion.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Santino didn’t say anything. He put his glass down on the little table nearby, and let his hand drop from Louis’s shoulder. He kept his gaze fixed on the TV as he ran his hand down Louis’s chest, and then pulled the band of the pajamas at his waist loose a little, before dipping inside.

“I thought this girl died?” said Santino, nodding towards the TV.

Louis snorted. “No, it was her twin. The red-haired girl has a twin. She survived, and grew up looking after the family, and now her sister is back.” He opened his legs a little wider as Santino’s warm hand explored further, found his cock and gave it a good squeeze, then his balls.

“This is one hell of a strange show,” said Santino. “So inscrutable. So _French_.”

Louis gave him an amused tut. He closed his eyes with pleasure as Santino fondled him. “But French goes so well with Italian,” he admitted.

They retired to the bedroom soon after.

Their lovemaking was proper. Santino was considerate and prepared him well. They kissed and whispered “I love yous”, and Santino flipped him onto his stomach and entered him with careful pressure, and their Friday night sex was satisfying and pleasant.

And afterwards, they showered. Santino wandered about the house making calls, setting up the security system for the night ,and Louis lay back in bed reading a biography, flushed with guilt at how his mind had roamed even in the midst of Santino orgasming above him. He wondered at how quickly Lestat had ruined it all for him.


End file.
